


Reinhardt

by phasma



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Covert love confessions, M/M, Slow Dancing, Specifically slow dancing to Django Reinhardt, as the title suggests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 00:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20648066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phasma/pseuds/phasma
Summary: Aziraphale has grown to enjoy riding with Crowley in The Bentley, though he enjoys the car's cursed sound system decidedly less so. Thus, he jumps at the chance to be at the helm of the proverbial aux cord.





	Reinhardt

They opt to ride in Crowley’s car nearly everywhere they go. And now that the rest of the world is laid out before them for the indefinite future, that can mean just about anywhere. To another town, another country, and maybe one day, another galaxy.

Aziraphale has grown to quite like these drives. Sure, Crowley’s still got him beat when it comes to actual appreciation for the Bentley itself. But even then, it’s become almost palpable, the way Crowley’s attention is focused less and less on his car, and more on the angel riding alongside him. 

And while that’s all sunny and grand, the aforementioned angel does have one qualm when it comes to these increasingly frequent car rides, and that’s… the soundtrack. Don’t get him wrong, he finds Mr. Mercury’s voice to be “absolutely dazzling, darling. Such a true and natural talent, I hardly think any demonic intervention was involved whatsoever!” But one can only listen to the same stadium jams so many times before developing a simmering sort of madness, or just a very unpleasant headache. Neither ever sound like a particularly good time for Aziraphale.

A simple solution would be to simply turn the stereo off. But oh… if only Aziraphale weren’t such a hedonist. As much as he likes to indulge his senses of sight, taste, and more recently, touch, he also loves the ability that a great piece of music has to elicit goosebumps along his arms. To simply ride in silence? For that long? And be forced to squeeze out more conversation between himself and Crowley, when they’d only just left a park bench where they’d spent the last three hours talking?

So the angel aquieces and lets the Greatest Bloody Hits of Greatest Bloody Queen play. He knows that Crowley probably hates it just as much as he does, if not more so. But he also knows that it’s probably Crowley’s fault in the first place. It isn’t just bad luck that gets a car hit with such a mighty curse that even a demon can’t reverse it. The sometimes perverse nature of petrolheads might have had something to do with it. 

Since Aziraphale is so kind as to put up with “Crowley’s music” whenever they go for a drive (aka, very often), he gets a giddy sort of high whenever the opportunity arises for him to share  _ his  _ music with the aforementioned demon. Sometimes it’s at Crowley’s flat, through hi-def speakers that apparently can listen to what you say and play music on command? “As if there’s a woman on the other end of a telephone!” Sometimes it’s during outings to the park, where Crowley will pull out a pair of earbuds to share, hand Aziraphale his phone, and tell him to “go wild, angel.”

But the best times are when Aziraphale invites Crowley to the bookshop, the angel’s home turf, where he can play from a tastefully curated selection of records on his old, reliable gramophone. To his often-present glee, Crowley has only had major complaints when he was asked to sit through the entirety of “Boléro”, since Aziraphale had insisted he wait until they got to the “good part.”

“It’s been the ‘good part’ for twelve bloody minutes already!”

“Yes, but it gets--! Louder!” Aziraphale had said with such gusto, and Crowley could only cope with the image by peppering his angel’s face in kisses, and chastising him for being “too damn cute for this world.” Needless to say, they never quite managed to hear the “good part.”

Today is another such day, wherein after an exhausting day of being retired from celestial duties and feeding ducks, Aziraphale leads Crowley to the back of a bookshop that was open for approximately 2 hours this morning. On cue, Crowley shucks his jacket onto the back of Aziraphle’s chair and plops down onto the nearby divan, and though Aziraphale might usually scold him for not using the perfectly fine coat rack, Crowley knows that the angel secretly likes the smell of him that lingers on his jacket. This is usually followed by Aziraphale opening the bottom drawer of his desk to pull out whatever the selection of booze is for the night, and pouring them each the first in a long line of glasses.

However, instead of opening the desk drawer, Crowley watches as Aziraphale quickly walks over to the tall shelf in the corner, housing a collection of records arranged in a way that would put most music-shop owners in a state of cardiac arrest. It’s a wonder Aziraphale ever finds what he’s looking for, but sure enough, he gingerly picks up a record near the top of the shelf and makes his way over to the gramophone. This in itself is nothing odd or new, but Crowley can never remember putting music on before getting at least tipsy.

“I know it’s not our usual order of events,” Aziraphale says, as if reading his mind. “But I’ve just happened upon an original side by a wickedly skilled Romani fellow from the past century, and I’m just dying to play it.”

Crowley shrugs noncommittally, but smiles at the light radiating from all that Aziraphale is saying. “Then let’s hear it, angel.”

Aziraphale bites his lip. “Right.” He pivots around to pop the record in, and almost as if he were performing surgery, sets the needle in place. Before the song actually starts up, while all he hears is crackling from the gramophone’s bell, he rushes back to his seat and closes his eyes, waiting. Crowley laughs a small laugh to himself before humoring the angel and closing his eyes too. The song starts.

First, the subtle fanfare of tinny piano. Crowley likes it enough, trying to place the year this was recorded. Not soon after, however, the real melody comes in through a sensually plucked guitar. Crowley is starting to warm up the piece, and somehow, it seems very familiar. Only a few more seconds pass

and then it hits Crowley like a train.

His eyes blink open, and already, Aziraphale is looking back at him expectantly. He knows. “The Man I Love” continues to play.

Wordlessly, Crowley stands from his spot on the couch and outstretches his hand toward Aziraphale. The angel takes it without a second thought, then slips it down to rest on Crowley’s lower back. With his left hand, he intertwines his fingers with those of Crowley’s right, and the demon rests his left arm along Aziraphale’s right. 

There’s not a breath of space between them, and not a breath of air released. As Aziraphale leads the two in a lazy circle around the back room of his bookshop, every siren in Crowley’s brain is blaring, about to go into panic mode.

Yes, what he has with the angel, what he’s had for the past 6,000 years, is truly--dare he say--a godsend. And now that he thinks about it, what else could it have been? Certainly no accident that even before the arrangement, he found himself bumping into Aziraphale across centuries and continents. And what started as prescribed adversity bled into a long-stinted comradery, which hasn’t developed much farther than occasional shows of affection. Now that the worry of being found out by their head offices no longer looms in the corner, those occasions happen more often. Kisses here, dancing there, that one time Aziraphale wanted to try his skills at giving a full-body massage. 

But there had never been talk of love. That was a pipe dream that Crowley had come to terms with years, centuries, possibly a couple of millennia ago. And he had told himself that whatever the angel was willing to share with him, he’d savor for the rest of his corporeal existence. 

It’s as he sways Aziraphale’s arms that an old impossibility becomes increasingly likely. There’s a slight pause in the music as the track restarts. Crowley looks at his partner over the edge of his glasses. For all of his earnestness and sometimes fatal bouts of naivete, Aziraphale is no idiot. He knew exactly what he was doing the second he bought that record. Crowley is determined to tease him for it. 

“Wickedly skilled Romani fellow, eh?”

“Well it wasn’t a lie.”

“You could’ve told me who it was, though. Hardly think I’d be able to whittle it down from just the name alone.”

Aziraphale sighs. “I suppose you’re right, but you know I can’t help my penchant for the dramatic.”

“Believe me, angel,” Crowley says as he leans in to rest his forehead atop Aziraphale’s. “I know the feeling all too well.”

Aziraphale smiles, and places a sweet kiss on Crowley’s lips before sturdying himself enough to slowly lower Crowley in a dip. The sounds from the gramophone seem to amplify, and the angel revels in the chance to indulge in so many senses at once. He brings the two of them upright again as the song picks up in speed. 

“That Django really is quite brilliant,” he tells Crowley.

“Mhm,” Crowley agrees. “You ever met him?”

Aziraphale sighs and shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. Too busy trying to thwart the Second World War around this time.”

“Trying and failing.”

“Yes, trying and failing and ultimately being saved by you in the end.”

“Was that when you first loved me, angel?”

Aziraphale would have to be denser than a black hole to not see the love that Crowley’s had for him since nearly the beginning of time. Tragic that Crowley _ is  _ denser than a black hole, and is left to ask questions that get him condescending chuckles in return. 

“Hardly,” Aziraphale says. “Though that was the first time that I knew I’d only be of use to this universe if I had you by my side.”

Crowley would collapse, if not for the gentle hands holding him in place, right where he needs to be.

**Author's Note:**

> More like Rein-HEART.
> 
> [Link to the song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgNXDa3XjU0l) This version is the recording Aziraphale acquired. 
> 
> Sad @ myself for taking this long to post anything for this fandom, but hey, I got here anyway. This was written in a sitting, so feel free to point out mistakes. Have a couple more fics in the works so stay tuned if you liked this. Thank you so much for reading <3


End file.
